


Hook and Wriggle

by Rubynye



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn Battle, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo stumbles into an unfriendly grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook and Wriggle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baranduin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/gifts).



> Content Advisory: Non-consensual, emesis, hurt/comfort.  
> With thanks to Baranduin for the plot bunny, and headshaking at myself for being unable to resist it.

They sent him scouting, and he might have said, "I'm a burglar, not a scout," but they sent Flli and Kili too, those two scamps, and Ori, who nearly took his sketching-book, so Bilbo knew he might do better than that at least. So off he went scouting to the west, creeping as quietly as he might.

Later, he always wished he'd thought also to draw Sting and watch it for warning. But then it seemed so dark, not enough light from a cloud-clogged sky to reach beneath the thick-knit branches, it seemed he didn't need his Ring to be invisible, and surely didn't need a sword out in his hand when he might stumble and fall and gut himself like a self-filleting fish. And, after all, who knew how much magic there was in the Ring? Perhaps It might run out. So Bilbo took It off, lest he accidentally use It all up, tucked It safely away in his pocket, and turned to return to his companions and their campfire, having had enough for one night of dark steep hillsides covered with assorted sized rocks.

Which was, of course, when he tripped over one of those rocks, and barely kept from shouting as he tumbled down sideways, rolled twice or thrice or twenty times, and fetched up against something stony and redolent. The smell hit him as hard as the landing, a waft of deep muskiness, a predator's scent tinged with old blood and rich with rot. Bilbo scrabbled over the stone, trying to find purchase to pull himself upright.

Then the stone moved. Then a clawed hand grasped the back of Bilbo's neck, and a deep voice boomed above him. He couldn't understand the words, all harshness and grating consonants, but Bilbo knew that voice, as he was dragged around and up, as fear clenched chill in his belly and his throat. It was Azog's voice, the huge pale orc the dwarves called the Defiler.

Azog's chuckle rolled like dreadful thunder as he dangled Bilbo in midair, nothing of him visible but two glinting black eyes. As he was hauled closer, Bilbo's foot brushed fur over stony flesh; Azog growled, and Bilbo had never yet been so sure upon this journey that he had met his last moment.

He fell -- he was dropped mortifyingly -- he landed face first in reeking fur, flailing helplessly, and -- _oh, no_ , that was a bulge, an unmistakable rod, seemingly big as Bilbo's forearm. He reeled back, but fetched up against a cruel tug on his hair, tines sliding across his scalp. The metal claw.

Shock loosed Bilbo's tongue, and he stammered, "Sir, surely this isn't necess--" before a rough shake rocked him off his toes, sending him stumbling against a thigh like granite studded with wires, his dizzily groping hand finding a massive stony knee. Azog wasn't even standing but seated, and Bilbo'd felt small since he'd left home but now his heart sank at his own puny powerlessness, plummeting towards despair deeper than the darkness round him.

But the next breath brought a cool fresh breeze, if just a moment, and Bilbo set his feet beneath him. Every moment he wasn't slaughtered was another chance to escape if he could just survive, as Azog chuckled again, muttering low rough-sounding words, closing hard fingers on Bilbo's shoulder to shove him forwards, the claw's tines dragging on his hair. So he tried to speak, to bargain, but nothing emerged but a low, "Uh--". What could he do, propose a trade, his virtue for his freedom? The thought made him choke, and he was still rigid with fear when the clawed hand left him, unable to move into the half-chance.

The next moment the opening vanished as the great orc sighed above him, loosing a massive member like a battering ram. Bilbo swallowed hard, scent coating his throat, and reached forward a cautious hand. Surely even such a monster took pleasure like any other, surely he could do this and get away.

At the first rough hot touch Azog jerked him in closer yet, and Bilbo quailed. _No_ , no, surely not -- but Azog growled warningly, clawed hand pressing behind Bilbo's head, and, he reminded himself, he was yet alive. So, swallowing hard, he pressed his gasping mouth to the length before him, easing wide until he could slip it tightly over the acorn-shaped head, wrapping his hands below his lips, listening to the pleased rumble above him.

His fingers didn't meet. His lips burned with the strain, the prickhead in his mouth as inflexible as warm stone, the claws of metal and flesh holding him fast. Desperately, Bilbo began to suckle and stroke, dragging in breath through his squashed nose, striving to keep his feet. As he struggled to chafe pleasure into his captor, deep in the workings of his mind Bilbo beat back the fog of fear and forced himself to think. There was a way out through this, if he could find it. There had always been a way out of every difficulty upon this journey, and this was not how he intended to meet his end if he could at all manage it.

Still, it was not easy, his mouth and tongue and throat all aching, his fingers rubbing ceaselessly, his thoughts threatening to collapse under the weight of ever-pressing panic. It was not easy as Azog rumbled and shifted, tugging Bilbo's hair sharply, thrusting up so he rubbed along the roof of Bilbo's straining mouth and thumped against the back of his throat, filling him impossibly with plenty to spare for his overburdened hands. Bilbo gagged and gulped and swallowed, striving towards this monster's pleasure, and at last, at last, Azog began to groan aloud. He forced Bilbo's head down further, pushing his hands down into coarse wires and crushing the air from him, lightheadedness reinforcing the panic, and Bilbo clenched his toes in the dirt and held fast, letting his hands still, turning all his little strength to hanging on.

At last, Azog's prick shuddered like the start of a rockslide, Azog bellowed satisfaction into the lightless air, Bilbo watched redness crackle behind his eyelids as he gagged on the orc's spendings and gulped against drowning, bitter musk slicking his throat the whole way down.

In that moment Azog's grip loosed, clawed fingers slumping lax off Bilbo's shoulder, and Bilbo gathered himself. Wrenching his head back, pushing his palms up, Bilbo shoved sharply at Azog's belly so that the orc tumbled backwards over the boulder, metal claw jerking a considerable quantity of Bilbo's hair with it. As Azog bellowed Bilbo stumbled back coughing, gathered the fragments of himself and fled, listening to the thud and clatter of the orc rolling some distance down the hillside.

As for Bilbo, he did not pause to wait or check, he forced down his rising gorge and scrambled back the way he had come, listening to distant shouts and barks on the wind, wiping his mouth on a scrap of sleeve he cast away even as he climbed with the other hand, slipping on his Ring as soon as he might. The noise fortunately sank further and further behind, but Bilbo forced himself onwards despite his battered throat and roiling belly, until he saw the glow of the dwarves' campfire and heard their merry voices.

Then he had to stop, his will giving out. Then he fell to his knees and retched into the dirt as quietly as he might, muffling the noise with his arms around his head, until he could find the strength to stand once again.

Bilbo almost forgot to take off the Ring before he entered the circle of firelight, and when he remembered found himself loath to leave the protection of invisibility, but he had a message to give and further to run that night. Feeling hollowed out, his limbs dragging, he had no idea what his face looked like when he stumbled into his companions' midst, but he succeeded in saying, "Orcs, to the west-south-west, on the move."

Thorin nodded, and the dwarves bustled to douse the fire and gather their packs. Bilbo stood swaying amidst the flurry, fearing that if he sat he'd never rise, and thus Bofur found him. "Are you all right?" Bofur asked, voice low and gentle.

Bilbo looked up at Bofur's concerned face, feeling his throat sore as he swallowed again, feeling his belly roil as if there were anything left to purge himself of, and could not say yes, and would not let himself say no. Bofur slung a warm, solid arm round his shoulders, and so they walked onwards as their company moved camp.


End file.
